


i want your hands on my eyes

by neopunch (caihongs)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spider-Man Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mark Lee (NCT)-centric, Minor Violence, Pining, Polyamory, Roommates, Sad Mark Lee (NCT), and they were ROOMMATES, unbeta'd i'm so sorry again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26750113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caihongs/pseuds/neopunch
Summary: Let's do this one last time. His name is Mark Lee and he was bitten by a radioactive spider, and for the last two years, he’s been the one and only Spiderman. He saved a bunch of people, fell in love, saved the city, and then saved the city again... and again and again and again.Those two things remain a constant in Mark’s incredibly volatile life. One of them relies more on the other than not. No brownie points for guessing which it is. Him being most definitely in love with both of his roommates is what gets him up in the day to do what he does. He’ll save New York City again and again and again and break all the bones in his inherently mortal body if it means Jaemin and Dejun get to live another day.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Na Jaemin/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Comments: 20
Kudos: 157
Collections: 姐妹 exchange!!





	i want your hands on my eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misleko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misleko/gifts).



> happy (too early) birthday xin jie! i know i'd be too busy to get something out for you in time for your birthday next month or post it in time either so here [nudges gently] take this.
> 
> i tried to do our beloved leo line justice, and i hope you enjoy! it's been an honour to call you a friend and a jie, and i do hope (that on the actual day), you have a wonderful birthday <3
> 
> title taken from pablo neruda's 'when i die i want your hands on my eyes'

Mark screams into the void, into the entanglement of broken beams, bursting pipes, and the wake of a horrific incident that lays below him. Another indelible scar onto the city of New York. Another tally on the cement walls of this concrete jungle. 

He’s got a number of cracked ribs, blood dripping from his side, and his ears are ringing so loud he can’t hear himself think. 

  
  


Are they safe?

  
  


Mark wants to go home, but it’s not over yet. It’s never really over, even when the council and the same faces volunteering to clean up, finish dusting away whatever disaster Mark creates in the name of justice, because nobody will leave the city alone for as long as Mark lives. 

  
  


It’s this sick irony that he’s reminded of every single day that he walks as Mark Lee, university student with an extensive understanding of organic chemistry and freakishly quick reflexes, who comes home to two roommates that aren’t really just his roommates, and instead two boys he’d sacrifice his soul for, and who roams the streets, pretending he doesn’t know that he’s the cause of all harm that comes to New York City. 

Every day he walks as Mark Lee, he wishes he never went to that dumb fucking party, that he listened to Jaemin when he said it’d be cold outside and he’d definitely fall sick after staying up to finish his assignments, that he stayed when Dejun’s hand lingered two seconds too long on his arm as he left the apartment. 

  
  


Let's do this one last time. His name is Mark Lee and he was bitten by a radioactive spider, and for the last two years, he’s been the one and only Spiderman. He saved a bunch of people, fell in love, saved the city, and then saved the city again... and again and again and again.

Those two things remain a constant in Mark’s incredibly volatile life. One of them relies more on the other than not. No brownie points for guessing which it is. Him being most definitely in love with both of his roommates is what gets him up in the day to do what he does. He’ll save New York City again and again and again and break all the bones in his inherently mortal body if it means Jaemin and Dejun get to live another day.

  
  


He makes sure all of them are dead. Tears the metallic killing machines until they’re debris and barely recognisable. The NYPD have evacuated people out of the area and Mark is left with nods from the cops, standing on top of what was a strip of pavement. Alone.

  
  


He makes his way back home, swinging one-handed and wincing every time the wind pummels at his wounds, until he reaches a familiar brownstone and slips through the open window. His phone is still lying on his desk, as well as his bag, unzipped, and all of his papers and books strewn on the floor, a sign of the rush he was in to slip on his suit after coming home from his last class. He tries his best not to limp as he opens his bedroom door and finds the two of them cuddled on the couch. Mark checks his phone to find thirty-four new messages from the both of them, with an additional twenty phone calls, before he presumes they heard his phone vibrating from his room. 

  
  


Jaemin’s phone is still in his hand and Dejun’s limbs are intertwined with the other, his face smushed into the corner of the couch.

  
  


Mark hobbles over to throw the blanket over them before he shuffles back into his room.

  
  


“Hey, can you come over?”

  
  
  


“Mark, I don’t know how you’re going to explain this one.” Johnny jostles the foldable stretcher until it finally snaps into place and Mark crawls on, cradling his side. 

  
  


“I know, I know,” he mutters as Johnny gets to work, paying absolutely no mind Mark groaning and writhing as he rubs alcohol all over his body. 

  
  


“ _Do_ you though? Mark, I can’t keep covering as your uncle from Maine, who visits too often and demands for their nephew to tour New York every single time. What kind of uncle pays for an Airbnb for their nephew to stay in while _they’re_ the one visiting?!” Johnny’s voice grows louder and louder with incredulity before Mark slaps his hand over the doctor’s mouth.

  
  


“They’re outside!” Mark whispers loudly and Johnny slaps Mark’s hand away before he frowns again, packing on the ice from his duffel all over Mark’s chest. 

  
  


“You know I’m right, and it’s not a matter of if they find out, it’s when. You can’t keep playing off your injuries to ‘accidents at the gym’ because both of them are smarter than that, and probably know by now that you’re hiding something.” Mark knows he’s right. It’d be a disservice to both of them if Mark made up that lie and went along with it because he thought that they’d actually believe it. It was more of a quick salve that became somewhat of a bandaid for a bullethole. 

  
  


“I know how much they mean to you Mark.” Johnny says after a while, putting on the last bandage. Mark gets up with shuddering breaths, and Johnny holds him up while he buttons his shirt back up. Johnny, a friend he made in freshman year turned his medic and confidant, knows more than anyone what strife Mark has been through physically and emotionally, and his blunt attitude is a wake-up call rather than a punch to the gut. 

  
  


“I’ll— I’ll try.” Johnny adds the pain medication to Mark’s designated box of meds and turns back around to face Mark.

  
  


“That’s all I can ask of you.”

  
  


Mark doesn’t sleep well that night, but that’s a constant too. 

  
  
  


He wakes up to someone rustling at his bedside table, padding across his room in a flurry.

  
  


“Mark? You’re awake!” Jaemin rushes to him, donning his pink checkered apron, and holding a tray of food.

  
  


“Jaem, what is this?” Mark croaks out and Jaemin frowns, placing the steaming food on his desk.

  
  


“Your uncle said that you had a rough night last night and said that you’d tell me and Dej in the morning?” Jaemin says, grey worry fogging in his eyes. Mark is starting to believe he’s the sole cause of Jaemin’s worries and unease because that grey cloud is ever present whenever they’re together, and he hates it.

  
  


“O-Oh yeah, it was just— you know… a tussle at the gym. Nothing too serious, I think I just need to rest up for a bit.” Mark lies too easily and Jaemin cocks his head at him once, before he pouts again. His Apple Watch lights up in his peripheral, and embarrassingly enough, Mark’s heart rate has increased a significant amount in a short amount of time.

  
  


“I really don’t think that gym is good for you Markie, have you thought about home workouts? I’m sure Dejun would be happy for you to join him doing PopSugar exercises.” Jaemin offers as he helps Mark sit up against his headboard and Mark bites his lip to stop himself from smiling too hard. He entertains the idea for a split second, and realises that he doesn’t know if he could concentrate when Dejun would be right beside him, following those ladies on the screen doing squats and the bicycle. Let alone Jaemin watching him, like he does Dejun and jeering at him to ‘shake that ass’. 

  
  


“Yeah— I’ll think about it, I’ve still got a bit more of my membership to go though.” Jaemin sits on his bed and brings a spoonful of soup to his mouth.

  
  


“Ahhh.”

  
  


“Jaem, I can feed myself, it’s okay,” Mark pinks, even though Jaemin has done this countless times before, and Jaemin shakes his head resolutely.

  
  


“You think I didn’t know that you were bruised up everywhere? Just drink the damned soup.” Jaemin stares expectantly at him and Mark has no choice but follow.

  
  


“You should’ve seen the other guy.” 

  
  


A fallen villain crushed by piles of cement and an entire building structure. What were steel robots armed with machine guns, now metal scraps littering the streets of the city. 

  
  


“Oh I’m sure they were obliterated beyond recognition. Now drink up big boy.”  
  


Mark blushes like a rose in bloom and slurps the _jjigae_ with zeal.

  
  
  


Dejun comes home, armed with a watermelon, messenger bag slung across his shoulder, and warmth that Mark has been missing for the entire day.

  
  


“You feeling okay Mark?” Dejun places the fruit on the countertop before settling next to Mark on the couch. After being coddled by Jaemin for three hours before he had class, Mark feels a thousand percent better on top of his regenerative abilities, and seeing Dejun has only illuminated his day further. 

  
  


So much better that he almost forgets that he has to tell them something that might just rip them apart.

  
  


“Yeah, Jaemin made it his mission to hand-feed me and carry me across the house today so I’m feeling much better.” Mark says as Dejun carefully curls into his side, making sure not to touch any tender spots on Mark’s body.

  
  


“Come here.” Mark opens up his arms, and Dejun looks at him apprehensively.

  
  


Mark takes the initiative and tugs the other man under his arm, his head against Mark’s collarbone and chest. Dejun only lets out a soft ‘oof’ before he looks at Mark again, and then snuggles in, arm wrapped across Mark’s waist.

  
  


“I don’t think you should keep going to that gym. We can buy weights and I’m sure we could fit an elliptical in the living room if we tried—” 

  
  


Mark holds him closer and Dejun’s mouth opens before he closes again.

  
  


“I’m sorry for worrying you two, I’ll— I’ll think about changing that.” Dejun looks up at him and blinks slowly.

  
  


“I hope that means you’ll cancel your membership.” Dejun’s hair is silver, but Mark can see his roots growing out again. He also smells like his peach colour-stay shampoo that Jaemin has definitely been stealing just for the scent. He feels like home.

  
  


“Okay, okay I’ll call them alright? Don’t worry your little head about it.” Mark is overwhelmed with a sudden urge to drown Dejun in kisses when he looks up at him again with those glossy eyes of his. Truly a sight for sore eyes. 

  
  


They sit there for a little while longer, as the fans whirrs above them and Dejun plays the thread hanging from Mark’s decade-old flannel shirt. 

  
  


Moving in with Jaemin was one thing. Donghyuck hadn’t even said anything before Jaemin dragged Mark in and said that he’d be a great fit with the feng shui of the apartment and Mark had omitted the fact that the radioactivity in his veins might just disrupt that. They’d lived together for the spring before they decided that they really needed a third roommate to cover rent and thus, Dejun was inducted into the Fire Kingdom, aptly coined by Jaemin when he realised that all of them were indeed Leo's. Bringing in Dejun, someone who Jeno had sung praises about before he moved in with Jisung and Renjun, was another thing, and it was about a year in when Mark realised that he was starting to look at his roommates as more than just cohabitors and more like, Christ, I don’t mind doing this for the rest of my life. How he managed to fall in love with both of them was a different story, one he could spend millennium going on about. 

  
  


But as they sit in comforting silence, Mark has never wanted to run more. He might lose all of this in a blink of an eye.

  
  


A liar, a villain, a burden. Mark’s been called many things in his life, but he knows those three labels to be branded in his bones. 

  
  


“Jaem is coming home soon, what should we eat for dinner? I was thinking Italian from downtown?” 

  
  


Mark loves them. He loves Jaemin for all of his bleeding heart, intelligence, and compassion that couldn’t be sourced from anywhere in the world in that amount. Dejun, for his determination, generosity, and for how endlessly altruistic he is. He loves and it’s wrong because he’d give them everything and yet nothing of his own. He is a hero, in no sense of the word, and he can’t even share that with them. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

  
  


“Mark? You okay?” Dejun sits up and checks Mark’s forehead out of habit, and Mark shakes himself out of it.

  
  


“Italian sounds good, we’ll ask Jaem when he gets home, hm?” Dejun frowns at him again, and fixes his hair. 

  
  


“We can stay at home and I can cook up your favourite winter melon soup, how’s that sound?” Mark holds Dejun’s wrist before he can make a move to leave the couch. 

  
  


“No no it’s okay, I’m really fine. We can grab Italian, I’ve been craving their thin-crust pizza.” When lying stopped tasting acrid on his tongue and slid easy off the lips, Mark doesn’t remember. 

  
  


“Okay, Mark. I’ll text him and take a quick shower. Do you need me to grab you anything?” 

  
  


The orange sunlight frames him so prettily in their living room. 

  
  


“I’m good, thank you Dej.” Mark musters out and Dejun nods before he walks off to the bathroom.

  
  


Mark is so, so fucked. 

  
  


Even when Jaemin makes it home, completely drained of all life after his three hour long lab, the acid eating at his skin isn't neutralised. Jaemin’s too tired to go out so they settle for take-out Italian, and when Dejun is telling them about how Renjun almost decapitated Chenle when he found out that he basically spilled the entire surprise party he’d been planning since January for Jeno’s birthday, Mark is swallowing glass trying to laugh and give reactions.

  
  


“Mark, you’ve been off since I came home, are you sure you’re alright? Maybe we should take you to the hospital.” Dejun puts down his utensils and gives Mark a long, anxious look, while Jaemin puts a hand on Mark’s.

  
  


“I can let your professors know.” 

  
  


“No, I’m fine really, I think I just need to get an early night tonight, really.” Mark sputters and he convinces absolutely no one, judging from the raised eyebrows from both of his roommates.

  
  


“I— I’m going to wash up first.” 

  
  


They let Mark get up from the table and don’t follow after him.

  
  
  


How is he going to start?

  
  


_I’ve played the role of Spiderman for the past two years—_

No, he _is_ Spiderman. No matter how much he deceives himself into thinking it’s a voluntary role he plays. 

_I’ve been Spiderman since I went to that dumb fucking party that you two didn’t want me to go to but I didn’t listen because I was being an asshole that whole exam block and releasing my stress from school onto you guys and wanted to forget I ever did in the first place. Remember that time I came home with a black eye? It was my first time I lied, that someone in my Lit class accidentally elbowed me in the face on his way down the lecture theatre when really I was out fighting that crime lord that threatened to blow up the childcare centre down 5th and 10th. Remember when I said my uncle was visiting from Maine again and that I had to stay with him for a few days? He’s not actually my uncle, he’s actually my doctor and somewhat of a brother figure and the only family I have here, and I fractured my shoulder after I fought Mysterio. Remember that? I was so worried because you two had gone to the museum together and I didn’t know if you guys made it out._

  
  


Mark doesn’t get to say any of this, because he feels the tingle and subsequent shudder that follows.

  
  


Nobody will leave the city alone for as long as Mark lives. 

  
  


“Oh Spiderman, I was just waiting for you.” 

  
  


Kingpin stares at him from across the road, mouth curled into a foul smile. Mark doesn’t even care to entertain whatever stupid spiel he’s got to go on now. A new bank he wants to rob? Up and coming politician he wants to puppet in Senate? Innocents he wants to kill as a favour for a friend? 

  
  


“What do you want Kingpin, I’m not in the mood.” 

  
  


“Spiderman isn’t in the mood? Well, after that little stunt you pulled the last time we met, you’re going to _have_ to be in the mood.” The foul smile turns into a snarl as Kingpin cracks his fat knuckles and comes charging at him.

  
  


Mark winces when he jumps up into the tree and webs his way to the other side of the street. He barely misses the old lady hurrying into her unit, before he throws an entire fence post at Kingpin. Before he even gets to defeating the guy, he has to distract him into the park. More open space and area there, for Mark to potentially drown the guy in the big pond, or— 

  
  


_BANG BANG_. 

Kingpin whips out two machine guns from the inside of his suit in the split second Mark was taking to plan something, anything, to stave off this monster, and he gets behind a tree just before his head gets blasted off.

  
  


“You’re going to have to do better without those fancy things of yours!” Mark says without really, thinking, and the crime lord storms his way to the tree and rips it from the ground.

  
  


Mark runs and jumps up on top of the lamp post before landing on the villain’s back. Much like a mechanical bull, Mark is thrown back and forth before he shoots a makeshift chokehold around Kingpin’s neck and for extra measure, punches the guy until he’s somewhat unconscious.

And yet, Kingpin has the gall to grin up at him before Mark hears a beep coming from his right. In the man’s fist, is a red button, and Mark feels it before he sees it.

  
  


“EVERYONE EVACUATE, IT’S A BOMB!” Mark bellows across the road and hundreds of families are already on the way out, having witnessed Spiderman and Kingpin’s brawl from outside their windows and wanting to get as far from it as possible

  
  


“Fuck.” Mark utters before he swings up, making sure to kick the villain in the face one more time, and watches as a series of bombs detonate across the city, covering the entire metropolis in grey fog.

  
  


He jumps from roof to roof, saving what civilians he can as he goes along. For the most part, people are still making their way to work on the subway, and the police and ambulance have already made their way down to the epicentre. 

  
  


Mark has been doing this gig for long enough to know there’s someone else, with more brains than Kingpin, controlling the chain. And that person is looking for something.

  
  


The bombs have trailed in a line from the dead centre of the city, and stops just out of the outskirts. Mark, already feeling the pain in his chest and back, powers on until he sees a visible marker on the road, where it stops. Right outside an uninhabited building, which looks every bit like where awful things happen in the comics. Mark jumps up onto the ledge from a glass door and even with his sight, there doesn’t seem to be anyone in there, but a tingle in his fingertips tells him there’s a thermal reading somewhere. 

  
  


“Looking for me?” 

  
  


A man with a shock of blonde hair leans back on the balcony behind Mark and Mark jumps back onto the ledge.

  
  


“What do you want.” 

  
  


“No exchanging pleasantries? I’ve been waiting all this time for you to ask for my name, Mark.” The man takes a step closer, still smiling serenely at Mark. 

  
  


Cold, cold fear seeps into his skin, like someone submerged him in a sink of something corrosive. 

  
  


“I know your name, and yet you didn’t ask for mine. Quite rude of you, not like the Mark I remember.” He keeps swinging around a cane in his left hand, blonde hair swept off his forehead. 

  
  


“Who are you? And answer me! What do you want.” Mark grits out, feet firmly planted onto the concrete ledge. He’s running out of web fluid from last night and can barely stand without feeling like someone has planted a stake into his heart. 

  
  


“Do you think you’re heroic, Spiderman?” The man leans his chin on the top of his cane, and Mark is wracking his brains to remember who exactly this is. Something about his eyes twinkle in certain angles and that’s not Mark thinking him charming.

  
  


“Are you…”

  
  


“Ms Mathers was always calling you a forgetful one.” He grins at Mark, and heaven forbid Mark ever forgets that face again.

  
  


“Kunhang?” Mark utters softly.

  
  


Mark can now add estranged childhood best friend to the list of people who want him dead.

  
  


“Oh I’m wounded Markie, it took you that long— was it the cane? I bet it was the cane.” Kunhang laughs to himself and Mark is wondering where the hell he went wrong.

  
  


“What— what happened? After you…” Mark takes off his mask and Kunhang is still. Eerily so. Mark was without a best friend the day fifth grade started, and no matter how many times he begged Aunt May to call the Wong’s, she always told him there was no answer. That was that. They’d played soccer together, bought pops at the bodega after school before parting ways home, and Kunhang was by his side throughout everything, even when he lost his parents. He hugged him until they were both out of tears.

  
  


“Mark, I tried to find you after we moved but you and your aunt moved from Queens and once you graduated middle school, nobody knew where you guys went.” Kunhang is still smiling at him and Mark is slipping further and further. He and Aunt May had never made lifelong family friends in that suburb, and when his aunt got a new job, they had no ties to keep nor cut off. 

  
  


“Then I go to this party, a mutual friend of a friend invites me, you might know him, Lucas?” The gleam in his eyes is not something of a coincidence, and Mark is wondering what exactly Kunhang is looking to hunt for today.

  
  


“Then I see you! All broody, with your drink in hand and those horrific Nike shoes of yours. I call for you but you don’t hear me.” Kunhang takes one step closer to Mark, and Mark doesn’t falter. There’s something in there Mark is looking for and if he backs away, he won’t find it.

  
  


“I follow you out to catch your number, in case I never see you again. And then, you stumble into the garage, all inebriated and drunk off your mixed drink. Then you see me, then you come and then you—” Kunhang is but a hair width’s away from Mark, and Mark is forced to stare at him in all his being. He did grow up well.

  
  


“We didn’t kiss, if that’s what you’re worried about. You just told me to fuck off and stop following you and that was that.” Kunhang reels back slowly and Mark is about to push him off the building. 

  
  


“Stop fucking with me Kunhang, what do you want?!” 

  
  


“I saw you get bit by that spider in the garage. You swatted it away and I was going to help you out, but you didn’t want it. Then I see a hero plastered all over the front page of the Times and on the news. And I’m no genius but I connected the dots where they appeared. Now I want you to answer my question Mark. Do you think you’re heroic, Spiderman?” 

  
  


“No, I don’t.” 

  
  


“Fine answer Mark, and it’s that we agree on. Now, are you still wondering what I want now?” Kunhang is cold and God, can Mark be murderous if he wants to be.

  
  


“What could I possibly give you Kunhang? I’m sorry I told you to fuck off but I was drunk and probably paranoid.”

  
  


“I want us to work together Mark. You’re not heroic, you said it yourself, and like that— you’re not a good guy. I’m not either Markie, my father’s company is set on creating the most indestructible artillery in the world. And with you, we could do so much more.” Kunhang beams at him and Mark is still left wondering where the hell it went all wrong.

  
  


“We are not working together Kunhang. I don’t know what made you think I’d even want to join you, and just because I’m not heroic doesn’t make me sickeningly evil.” Mark fires back, standing on the ground in front of Kunhang. Mark needs to act fast, because he’s got a shower to take and people he loves to go back to, but he can’t sense for a remote nor a trigger anywhere on Kunhang’s person, and the building is clear from his what he scanned with his suit. 

  
  


“Mark, you’re deluding yourself. You don’t save New York City, you take it down bit by bit. Everyone preys on this city because of you Mark, and don’t lie to me and tell me you don’t think the same way. You’re evil whether you want to call it that or not, decorating it in some hero-facade language.” Kunhang spits at him and Mark is fighting the urge to pummel him to death or to go down on his knees in surrender.

  
  


Kunhang is right. Mark wasn’t heroic the moment he caused the death of a friend, family, and a lover to someone else. His being catalyses mass annihilation of a city he’s lived, grown up, and fallen in love in and the only way he can end it in the realm of his control, is his life. 

And Mark is horrifically selfish for wanting to stay alive for love. For two people whom he desperately wants to spend the rest of his life with. 

  
  


“You’re right Kunhang. I am a sick bastard for living the life I do freely despite the destruction I cause to this city, the city we’ve loved since we were children. But I don’t want to work with you because I don’t know what I can do for you, much less what I’ll get out of it.” 

  
  


“Mark, don’t you see? I— I want you back. I was without you for so long and now that I have you right here, in front of me, I’d be an idiot to let you go without a fight.” Kunhang breaks in front of him like an actor being told ‘action!’, the front of Mark’s suit bunched up in his fists. 

  
  


“We’re— I don’t… we aren’t—” Mark has never been on the receiving end of a confession, let alone one of a treacherous ex-best friend, at the possible end of his life.

  
  


“God, Mark I’m not in _love_ with you. I just want you where I can see you.” _Where I can control you._ Kunhang drops the act as soon as he picks it up and rolls his eyes at him, before he swings his cane back into his hand.

  
  


“It seems you don’t want to join me despite everything that you are and how far you stray from what you supposedly stand for.” Kunhang’s suit is pressed and his hair is slick with gel. A handsome devil, Mark would say, if they’d ever cross paths. 

  
  


It’s a shame they couldn’t be friends again. 

  
  


Mark dives for it and Kunhang almost breaks Mark’s arm as he does. The cane is thrown across the balcony and Mark does his best to apprehend Kunhang without hurting him too much, with not much struggle.

  
  


“You think you’re so smart don’t you.” Kunhang smiles unerringly from under Mark’s hold, and the cacophony reaches Mark in his body before he sees it.

  
  


_As long as you live, everything you’ve ever loved will be preyed on._

  
  


“In a little brownstone, is a little unit, housing three people, two of whom would be a shame to see gone Mark.” 

  
  


Mark beats the living daylights out of him, hot tears dripping down his face.

  
  


“You piece of shit.”

  
  


It’s the belated realisation that the bombs weren’t high impact either, just barely above smoke bomb but not enough to cause harm to those civilians he was ‘saving’. A distraction.

  
  


His chest is killing him and there’s about a thousand and one things in his way as he tries to shoot webs up to gain more speed. 

He can see the building clear as day in front of him. Late nights spent patrolling, coming home to that rickety blue door that the landlord can’t be bothered to fix. The calico that lingers on the third floor window. 

It’s up in flames. Embers licking at the concrete around it and all of his neighbours standing outside, arms clutched around each other as they watch their homes disintegrate in front of their eyes. 

Mark runs. He runs and runs and runs, and everybody stares at him, a blur of red and blue as he searches through the crowd, in between the firefighters and the police, looking for silver and blue.

  
  


“Have you seen two men here? One with silver, one with blue hair? Twenty years old and around my height?” He tries his best to not sound like he’s sobbing and his neighbours, those on their floor whom Mark recognises, shake their heads and so do the firefighters.

  
  


“There’s nobody in the building right, sir?” Mark asks, pleads, and the head firefighter shakes his head.

  
  


“No, we’ve checked every single floor and everybody as far as we know has been evacuated. But, could I happen to get those names, Spiderman?” The older man leans in closer, as if Mark is sharing a secret and he, against every blaring light and sign telling him otherwise, gets on the balls of his feet and leans forward.

  
  


“Dejun Xiao and Jaemin Na. Thank you.” 

  
  


He’s going to trust in this stranger, that he won’t leak to the papers and gossip sites to make a quick buck off rumours with the neighbourhood superhero, and cause an irreversible chain of events.

  
  


“Noted Spiderman. Also, are— are you okay?” The older man asks after surveying Mark, and Mark doesn’t know how much he needs the question until then.

  
  


“I will be. Thank you for asking…”

  
  


“Baekhyun. Good work today Spiderman, we don’t say it enough but thank you.” Baekhyun’s smile is warm and he extends a hand to Mark.

  
  


Screw the handshake, Mark could kiss the man right now. 

  
  


“I— thank you too, sir.” Mark ends up reciprocating the handshake and Baekhyun grins at him again.

  
  


“I’m sure your friends are safe Spiderman, you’ll find them soon.” 

  
  


Mark chooses to believe him. 

  
  


And lo and behold, as if the world has suddenly decided to work in his fate, to offer him a reparation:

  
  


“HAS ANYONE SEEN MARK LEE?! ABOUT FIVE FOOT NINE, TWENTY YEARS OLD, BLACK HAIR!” 

  
  


Spiderman swivels around and sees a distraught Jaemin parading his iPhone 11 Pro Max with Mark’s Facebook profile pic set as the wallpaper, with an equally as upset Dejun trailing behind. 

  
  


Mark doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry.

  
  


“Hey I think that might be—” Baekhyun starts but Mark puts his index finger to his lips before leaping up onto the light pole and again onto the roof of the neighbouring building.

  
  


**_INCOMING CALL FROM DEJUN ♡_ **

  
  


“Mark— MARK?! Where the hell are you?! We had no idea where the fuck you went, and went looking for you and came back to our building on FIRE!” 

  
  


Mark can hear him screaming from below even from way up high and prays to God that they’ll forgive him for this. 

  
  


“I’m sorry Jun, look at me?” Dejun turns around with his phone pressed to his ear, looking high and low before Mark makes a soft landing in front of him.

  
  


“Can you forgive me?” 

  
  


If looks could kill, Mark would be six feet under, then some. Dejun packs a hard stomp in those Doc Martens of his. 

  
  


“DEJUN! WHERE—” 

  
  


Jaemin’s jaw drops, and Mark has no idea what to do with his hands.

  
  


“We— we are going to have a talk about _this_ when we get home.” Dejun stutters, gesturing at Mark’s entire garb and Jaemin, shockingly still, nods in agreement.

  
  


“About that—” Mark winces when he points, the injury on the side of his torso having opened up earlier. Dejun doesn’t even turn around to recognise what he’s pointing at and instead runs up to him.

  
  


“Are you okay? Do you actually need to go to the hospital this time?” Dejun pats Mark down, and out of force of habit, checks for his temperature. 

  
  


Mark takes his hand from his forehead with a laugh and holds it in his.

  
  


“I’ll be okay, I’m just glad you two are safe.” 

  
  


Jaemin is busy pacing before he storms up to Mark, and throws his arms around his neck.

  
  


“You idiot.” Jaemin is sniffling into Mark’s shoulder and Mark really thinks he deserves to be six feet under now.

  
  


“I’m sorry Jaem, don’t cry, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Mark pets the back of his head and Jaemin sobs even louder, and Dejun, ever the pragmatist, holds the both of them in the street with a tissue in hand to wipe at Jaemin’s eyes and nose.

  
  


“We’re okay, we’re okay.” 

  
  


So two men with brightly-dyed hair and Spiderman are hugging in the middle of a closed road, their home erupting in flames behind them. 

  
  


Only in New York City.

  
  


Jaemin manages to wrangle up a decent place to stay in for the next days and they sit in the lobby of some four-star (“wouldn’t have settled with anything lesser than!”) hotel, while their room gets sorted. Pretty people privilege, Mark thinks fondly.

  
  


“Silly little Markie.” is all Dejun has to say after Mark spills, after wiping away his tears and soothing him with backrubs. 

  
  


“We knew it wasn’t the gym, and we knew that _you_ knew that _we_ knew it wasn’t the gym, but Mark— oh darling, why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Jaemin leans his head on Mark’s shoulder before he presses a kiss into his hair.

  
  


“I was scared.” Nothing has ever felt as much as a victory as saying that aloud.

  
  


“That you’d leave me in that apartment alone, never want to speak to me again. It sounds stupid but I— I’d rather—” Mark is a believer of superstition, and he feels immediate regret after, as if he’s speaking it into existence. 

  
  


“We would never.” Dejun murmurs into his ear, and Mark curls further into him, while Jaemin continues peppering kisses into his matted hair.

  
  


“Love you too much to ever leave you.” Jaemin says in between his pecks and Mark is shuddering at this point.

  
  


Is he really going to confess in a hotel lobby, in Dejun’s old debate hoodie and his dirty Spandex superhero costume? 

  
  


“I—” 

  
  


“We love you.” Dejun says it, with such finality, that Mark almost believes him.

  
  


_As long as you live, everything you’ve ever loved will be preyed on._

  
  


Mark Lee is selfishly in love. The Mark Lee Touch, in which everything graced by his presence is doomed to an inevitable end, that may be closer than for most.

  
  


“Till the end of the line Markie.”

  
  


“Wrong superhero Jaemin.” 

  
  


“Same shit Dejun, we love Mark and would go to the ends of the Earth to save our hero.” 

  
  


Dejun kisses Mark’s temple and holds him closer, and Jaemin wraps his arm around the two of them, fingers just able to squeeze the back of Dejun’s neck. In the lobby of a crystal-encrusted lobby room, huddled in the loveseat, now made for three.

  
  


Let's do this one last, last time. His name is Mark Lee and he was bitten by a radioactive spider, and for the last two years, he’s been the one and only Spiderman. He saved a bunch of people, fell in love, saved the city, and then saved the city again... and again and again and again.

He breaks a countless number of bones and tears skin and muscle again and again and again. Yet, coming home to his Fire Kingdom, who adorn him with all of Love’s prettiest gems and a sparkling circlet on his head as they crown him their eternal hero and very own Mark Lee, chemistry extraordinaire and owner of a heart forged with gold, makes it all worth it in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> favourite line time!
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/renminsungs) \+ [cc](https://curiouscat.me/)


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